Deja Vu All Over Again And Again
by Mislav
Summary: A sequel to "In Plain Sight". Joan and Sherlock are together now, romantically, only nobody else knows that. But one day, after a seemingly simple murder investigation, they apparently get stuck in some sort of a time loop, reliving that day over and over again. What is happening? Is there a rational explanation? Read to find out. Joanlock love story, but essentially case fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **This story takes place about a month after the events that took place "In Plain Sight". Sherlock and Joan are now romantically involved, but are still keeping it a secret. What happens when a seemingly routine murder investigation apparently places them into a time loop where they keep reliving the same day over and over again? Like in "Groundhog Day"? The title inspired by the episode 1x18 "Deja Vu All Over Again".**

 **This, like "In Plain Sight", is a romance Joanlock story but mostly a case!fic. I don't think it will necessarily eng up as fantasy or science fiction story, though finding a rational explanation for such plot will be grad to come up with. Suggestions are welcome.**

 **I am not sure why, but I have a feeling that they would refer to Clyde as "him" rather than "it".**

The alarm clock went off. Sherlock opened his eyes almost immediately, though it took him some time to register his surroundings.

Brownstone. Bedroom. In his bed, next to Joan. He was used to all of that by that point, but it felt, reminding himself of some things.

He rolled over in bed, facing Joan. She was still asleep, lying face up on the bed, the bed sheet barely covering her breasts and still revealing quite a bit of her legs and thighs. Sherlock smiled and observed her for some time, feeling warmth spread through his chest. Joan's breathing was shallow, her lips parting slightly every now and then, and a strand of her hair was spranded over her cheek. She looked so peaceful, calm... perfect.

And then Sherlock took a deep breath, leaned a little closer, and yelled.

"Watson!", he yelled, his face directed straight at the side of hers.

Joan groaned, slowly opening her eyes, her hand instantly pressing against her forehead.

"Even when we are sleeping together, literally and figuratively, you are the one to wake me up", she whined, sitting up in bed.

Sherlock smirked. "Don't say that it isn't worth it." He sat up in bed. "Besides, you didn't hear an alarm clock."

Joan rubbed her eyes. "You barely even use it!", she complained. "You despise those things!"

Sherlock stood up, heading toward the closet. "True, but we have some important errands to get done today", he reminded her. Still mostly naked, he opened the closet, taking a look at the items inside. "Rise and shine, Joan!", he cried as she sat up in bed, fixing her hair. "And don't worry, I am not going to choose your undergarments. Not even now."

Joan groaned and crawled out of the bed.

#

Within half an hour, they were in the kitchen. Sherlock was standing in front of the stove, making scrambled eggs. Joan was sitting at the table, typing away on her phone, sometimes sighing.

"Something important?", Sherlock asked.

"My mother", Joan answered, not looking up. "I have to meet her for lunch tomorrow."

Sherlock frowned. "Why?"

Joan put the phone away. "Well, we haven't seen each other in a while. I think that is a reason enough."

"Maybe she has an inkling about the... turn our relationship has taken and wants to "do her research"?", Sherlock suggested, almost smugly.

Joan, still remaining serious, rolled her eyes. "Let's hope not."

#

They were walking around the store, looking at the terrariums. There were bunch of them, of different sizes and shapes, all over the shelves. The only two other people in the store were a young clerk moving some boxes around and a young man observing the bird cages.

"Since we are getting a new terrarium for Clyde, we should get a bigger one", Joan suggested, smiling at the mental image of Clyde in a new terrarium.

"I don't see how", Sherlock answered. "He doesn't grow."

Joan smirked. "It would be nice."

The clerk ended up dropping one of the boxes on the floor. The sound of broken glass was heard. She mumbled something and went on to clean up the mess.

Sherlock eventually stopped in front of a very specifically designed terrarium, placed on one of the upper shelves. "This one is perfect", he exclaimed in awe.

"It is a terrarium shaped like a labirint", Joan noticed.

"My point exactly", Sherlock added.

"We can't buy that!", Joan cried. "It will drive him insane!"

"I think you are underestimating him."

At that point, Sherlock's ringtone went off. He groaned in annoyance, pulled the phone out of his pocket and read the text. Soon, his face fell. "They need us at Fifth Avenue. Murder."

#

The body of Daniel Miles, a murder victim, was laying face up on the floor. He had been stabbed in the chest and stomach, multiple times. One of the forensic techs just finished bagging a bloody screwdriver. Marcus was standing near the body, flipping through his notepad, while Joan and Sherlock were leaned over, studying the body and taking glances at the crime scene as a whole. A distressed young blonde woman, the victim's assistant, was standing in the waiting room, talking to one of the uniformed police officers. Near by was a stocky middle aged Caucasian man, one of the victim's patients.

"Daniel Miles, twenty eight", Marcus read. "A dentist. This was his ordination. The M.E. estimates that he was murdered today between twelve am and one pm. One of his patients, Eric Johnson, found him at around two pm, shortly before the closing time. He had an appointment. He informed the police. We already pulled the log about the today's patients from his work computer, just in case. His assistant, Julie Jones, arrived soon after. She had a day off and arrived because she wanted to take one more day off and he wasn't answering his phone." He looked around. " The lock on the ordination door seems to be broken, probably by a screwdriver. The ordination has been ransacked, Daniel's wrist watch and phone are missing. Some medications appear to be missing too. It looks like a burglary gone wrong. Could be drug dealers. This is a pretty safe neighborhood, but you never know. There are security cameras in the waiting room and out in the front, but the killer took all the footages. It will be difficult to access to the rest of the logs and medical records. Patient confidentiality."

"This wasn't a burglary gone wrong", Sherlock exclaimed, straightening himself up. He took a few steps back, then observed the body one more time."The body was found here. Seven feet away from the door", he explained. "No drag marks. No signs of a struggle near the door. No other songs of breaking in. A scalpel in the open container on the dental chair near the body, left undisturbed. Mr. Miles was a strong, fit young man. Are we supposed to believe that he just stood there, waiting for the intruder to break in, run over to him and attack him? Without putting up any fight or even trying to dial 911? And why would the killer use the letter opener found on the scene if he already had a screwdriver?"

"The killer is left handed, reasonably strong", Joan concluded, still studying the body, especially the stab wounds. "Probably left handed. Most of the stab wounds seem to be on the left side of the torso and there is what appears to be a smeared palm print on the left side wall", she noted, turning around.

"Multiple stab wounds could indicate a crime of passion", Sherlock added, as Joan began walking around, studying the medical equipment. "Mr. Miles was definitely seeing somebody at the time of his death. A strong smell of male perfume, collogne and a hair gel present on his body. As well as a faint scent of female perfume. Medium quality, but I can't really determine which one, too much... layers over it. His assistant uses none, I'm certain of that."

"That could be why he was, apparently, planning to close early", Joan suggested, studying the anesthesia container near the patient chair, as Sherlock walked over to the victim's desk and studied his date book, then started flipping through it. "His log shows that he had no patients since eleven am. The M.E. concluded that he was murdered between twelve am and one pm. His patient, who had an appointment, found him at two pm. And yet, the anesthesia container is completely empty."

"Or perhaps the killer stole that too", Marcus suggested.

"Unlikely. No traces of blood around the anesthesia container. And it would take some skills in order to accomplish that."

"The marks on the corner of this date book shows that he was opening the same page a lot lately", Sherlock noted, still flipping through the date book. "The one with the today's date marked on the side of the page. Other than some info about the patients, there is an apparent appointment written for today at twelve thirty am. No details but the time and intials. A.D.C."

Sherlock then closed the date book and walked around some more, eventually concentraring on a blood stained pen stored into one of the evidence bags. That bas was placed on the victim's desk, together with a few other pieces of evidence, and one of the forensic techs just began storing them away.

"This pen was found somewhere near the body, I asssume", he exclaimed.

"Yes", Marcus confirmed. "In the pool of blood. Right against his right lower thigh."

Sherlock nodded his head. "I noticed a smear. Since there are no other pens near the body, I assume that the killer probably dropped it by accident and overlooked it while estaging and cleaning up the crime scene. Maybe forensic examination will uncover some useful evidence."

"Or it could have fallen out of the victim's own pocket. He had a few in his coat and pants", Marcus suggested.

"Take a closer look at the pin. This pen is of green ink. All the pens that I have found in this ordination, including the ones found in the victim's pants or coat, are either of blue or black ink. All the notes in his date book seem to be written exclusively in black or blue ink too."

He shared a look with Joan, adjusted his coat, then headed toward the door.

"I suggest we search mr. Miles' apartment next", he decided. "With some eudora, we may be able to uncover the killer's identity before evening."

Joan smiled, looking away, and Marcus glared at Sherlock before following him.

~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

Sherlock walked out of Daniel Miles' bathroom, closing the door behind, finding himself back in the bedroom. Joan was still going through Daniel Miles' closet.

"There is no doubt that mr. Miles had been seeing someone at the time of his death, if there ever was one", Sherlock proudly declared. "Two toothbrushes and two different types of toothpaste in the bathroom cabinet, as well as a bottle of a female deodorant, likely the one that I smelled on his body. He also had a package of condoms in the drawer of his bedside table."

Joan walked over to the writing desk, observing the content on it's surface. "We should take his home computer", she decided. "Forensics should examine this apartment."

Sherlock took a closer look at the bed sheets and pillows, even smelling them. "The whole surface of bed sheets and pillows about equally wrinkled", he deduced. "The smell of the same female deodorant."

At that point, Marcus walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind, his phone still in his hand. "Eric Johnson's and Julie Jones' alibies check out. Our techs went through Danie Miles' phone records", he informed them. "Other than the frequent calls made to his assistant and an equipment suppliers, he would also regulary contact a twenty seven year old woman named Jenny Red. In 2012, she was convicted of assaulting her boyfriend. The last time Daniel called her was on the day of his murder, at twelve thirty am. The call lasted for two minutes."

#

Jenny was sitting at the table in an interrigation room, oppostite to Marcus. She was a Caucasian, red haired woman of average height and weight, dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans. Sherlock was also standing near by, observing her. Jenny's eyes were watery, her face pale.

"I can't believe that he's dead", she whispered. "I spoke to him earlier today."

"How and when did you meet?", Marcus asked.

"In a bar. A month ago. It was mostly... a physical relationship. But we loved each other... in our own way."

"Where were you today between twelve am and one pm?", Marcus asked.

"I was at work", Jenny answered. You can check. My coworkers and boss saw me. There are also security cameras there."

"Do you know did Daniel have any enemies?", Sherlock asked. "Did anyone want to hurt him?"

Jenny frowned. "No... but there is one weird thing."

"What thing?"

"The time I talked to him today. Over the phone. After about two minutes, I heard the sound of the door opening. It confused me, but Daniel didn't seem to mind. Or maybe he didn't notice. We talked some more, for a while, then he went quiet, and when he spoke again, he sad that he needed to go and promised to call me back later that day. But he never did. He sounded a bit... unnerved. I didn't think much of that at the time, but now..."

"With all due respect, mrs. Red, we know about your... history", Sherlock pointed out.

"I didn't murder Daniel!", Jenny cried. "I loved him!"

"Would you mind providing us with your fingerprints and DNA sample?", Marcus asked. "For elimination purposes?"

"If I must."

#

Joan was sitting at the kitchen table, working on her laptop. She was reading Danielilws' profiles on social media sites. Sherlock kept studying the crime scene photographs and preliminary police reports. Every now and then, he would stand up, walk over to the fireplace, and plaster a certain document on the wall above it. When he did that and then sat back down for about twentieth time, Joan looked up at him and sighed.

"So, we are still going by "the crime of passion" theory?", she questioned.

"It seems like a likely reason", Sherlock replied, once again immersed into studying crime scene photographs and police reports. Joan sighed and continued reading. He soon stood up again, but this time in order to throw away the candy bar wrapper. He walked to the nearest trash basket in the house, threw the candy bar wrapper in it, and, just when he was about to leave, he happened to glance through the near by window. What he saw outside made him froze in place.

Sensing his sudden lack of pace, Joan looked up at him. "Something wrong?", she asked.

"A car", he exclaimed. "Parked near the brownstone."

Joan frowned. "What about it?"

"I've seen it before", Sherlock explained. "Today. Near the murder scene."

Without another word, he made his way toward the back door and sneaked outside. Just when he was about to make his way into a near by alleyway, a patrol car drove near by, over a pool of water, which sprinkled over his pants. He groaned, looking down at the stained fabric.

"Great", he muttered before rushing into an alleyway, just in time to spot a young blonde woman who was walking over to the SUV that he had noticed a minute ago.

"Mrs. Jones", he called out, making Julie Jones stop in her tracks. She turned to face him, her face pale. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her. "Care to elaborate?"

#

Julie shuddered before speaking up, her eyes slightly watery. "The truth is... there is something that I need to tell you... but I didn't feel comfortable talking to the police."

"And why is that?", Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows.

Julie looked down at the floor for a moment, clenching her fists. "I... I had... problems lately. With headaches. I had an extra key, so I sneaked in one day, after hours, and stole some pain killers." She slowly looked up at Sherlock and Joan. "I went in through the back door, I managed to avoid security cameras. That was about a week ago. And I caught a glimpse... through the window. Some guy was standing under the window, looking up at the ordination. I got a feeling like he was... observing. Lying in wait." She ran a hand through her hair. "Really weird. Creepy. I think he noticed me, because he got into his car and drove away soon afterward."

"Have you seen him any other time?", Joan asked. "Do you have any idea what that whole thing may be about?"

Julie shook her head. "No. But mr. Miles seemed more... detached lately. Stressed out." She sighed, shivering. "Can I have some water, please?"

"Sure", Sherlock answered, nodding his head and then standing up, ready to get it for her.

"I can do it myself", Julie answered, though a bit shakily, standing up.

"All right", Sherlock agreed, nodding his head. He looked after as she made her way into the kitchen, then walked over to Joan.

"Do you think she is telling the truth?", she hissed.

"She is definitely under stress due to something", Sherlock whispered. "That makes her more difficult to "read". And she is left handed, she wears her wrist watch on her right wrist and her purse over her left shoulder. But she does have an alibi for the time of the murder."

It was then that they heard Julie's footsteps approaching to the living room. Sherlock sat down next to Joan again, both of them silent. Julie walked into the living room, looking a bit better, and sat down, facing them.

"Can you describe that man?", Joan asked. "Or his vehicle?"

Julie frowned. "Uh... stocky Caucasian man. In his thirties. Black SUV. I don't remember anything else, I'm sorry." A sulk appeared on her face. "I know that it was stupid, following you to here... but I was scared, and confused, and didn't quite know how to... reveal my discovery. I heard that you are not... really police officers... just working with them... but I didn't get a chance to talk to you in private... so this. I thought about leaving an anonymous note, but you caught me. I'm sorry."

#

That night, Sherlock spent most of his time in the living room, sitting in front of the multiple TV sets, all turned on, with different security footages playing on every one of them. By nine pm, Joan walked into the room and observed him, tilting her head to the side, a DVD in her hand.

"Checking security footages?", she asked.

Sherlock just nodded his head. "The ones taken prior to the murder, yes. Mostly the ones taken a week prior. But the surveillance sistem out front is full of blind spots."

Joan sat on the chair next to him, looking at the screen with am interest. "No much traffic out there."

"Quiet neighborhood."

Joan crossed her legs. "By the way, Marcus called me about half an hour ago. Jenny Red's alibi checks out too. The murder weapon has been wiped clean of fingerprints, and that bloody palm print on the wall is too smeared to be identifiable. We'll still have to wait for the test of the forensic testings and the autopsy."

"Uh-huh."

They sat there in silence for a minute before Joan turned to face Sherlock, a mischievious grin on her face. "How about we-I mean, you-take a break from this and then we can have some fun."

Sherlock frowned. "In here, living room, or..."

"Well, that's where the DVD player is."

"Huh?"

"Look what I have", Joan exclaimed, showing him the DVD box.

""Groundhog Day"", Sherlock read.

Joan pouted. "Don't say that you don't like it."

"Oh, it's a great movie, up until the unbearingly cliche and cringe worthy happy ending."

"Come on!", Joan cried. "It will be fun."

Sherlock took one more tired look at the security footages, then turned the DVD players off. Joan kissed him, then went over to put that movie into one of those DVD players instead.

"I already have a feeling that I am going to regret this...", Sherlock whined silently.

#

The alarm clock went off. Sherlock opened his eyes.

He felt... strange.

He was naked, but... he and Joan watched that movie last night... then went to bed... together, but... did they have sex?

He looked around. Joan was also naked, only partially covered by the bed sheet. Sherlock smiled. He thought about screaming in order to wake her up, like he had done yesterday, but ultimately decided against it.

Joan woke up with a groan, her eyes still closed. She rubbed her eyes and stretched out in bed before opening her eyes. She frowned, realizing that she was naked, and sat up in bed. She looked at Sherlock, her eyes widening once she noticed that he, too, was naked. "Huh?", she exclaimed. "Did we..."

"Good morning would be nice", Sherlock responded. "But it would appear so."

Joan ran a hand through her hair. "I don't remember."

Sherlock glared at her. "Thank you."

Joan rolled over in bed, reaching for her phone on the bedside table. "I better check my texts. I have to meet my mother for lunch today."

She blinked a few times and looked at the screen, widening her eyes. "Sherlock... what date is it today?", she asked.

"10th, why?", Sherlock said, pulling his underwear on.

Joan frowned. "According to my phone, it's 9th."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, glancing at her. "That was yesterday", he exclaimed, before finding his IPhone and looking at the screen. "According to my... IPhone, it's 9th too", he exclaimed.

There was a short, uneasy silence, without either of them saying a word.

"Your mother sent you a few texts yesterday, remember?", Sherlock noted. "Check them."

Joan quickly checked her messages. She shivered before looking up at Sherlock. "The last text that I've received from her, this month, was on the 5th", she whispered.

She locked eyes with Sherlock, both of them completely shocked.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Sorry for the late update. Any ideas about the solution? Any suggestions?**

Joan took a deep breath as she walked into the kitchen, with Sherlock in tow. Her senses were going wild, her mind still unable to wrap itself around the whole situation, cold chill spreading all over her body. All of that was so unnatural, frightening, against every logic, and yet, it felt so real. And Sherlock was so calm that it almost annoyed her.

"This can't be possible", Joan almost pleaded, her face pale.

"Obviously, it is", Sherlock exclaimed calmly.

"I must be dreaming."

"Well, I still think, you know!", Sherlock cried, almost sounding offended. "I can feel it! I'm not just an object of your imagination! Something happening in your head!"

"Or maybe you are", Joan accused him. "How can I trust you? How can I know that this isn't a part of my dream as well?"

"And how can I trust you?", Sherlock retorted.

Joan sighed, having calmed down a bit. "Fair enough."

"So, as far as I can tell, you and this whole situation may as well be just a part of a dream. If you are real now, if this situation is real, you can think, you can feel... but I can only "feel" my consciousness. "Hear" my thoughts. You can claim that you are the same way now, but how can I know that that statement of yours isn't a part of a dream also? This all may be a grand illusion. And you... you, understandably, share the same concern."

"Or this is all an elaborate prank", Joan suggested.

Sherlock cringed. "Sure. The prankster sneaked into the brownstone, undressed us while we were asleep, deleted the messages from your IPhone, changed time and date on both of our phones, and now..."

"OK, forget that. But what do we do now?", Joan wondered.

"Go save Daniel Miles' life!", Sherlock decided. "He isn't dead yet!"

"How about "trying to wake up"?", Joan suggested angrily, mad again.

"I doubt that this is a dream", Sherlock claimed. "It is way too... intense. At least to me. And even if it were, how can we intentionally wake up?"

"Lucid dreams do happen!", Joan insisted. "And if it is not a dream, what is it?"

"So far... I have no idea."

"How come this doesn't... concern you more?", Joan cried. "You've always been so... logical! Analytical! Cynical even! And now you find yourself in a middle of this and you are so... calm!" She groaned.

"I still stand by my beliefs firmly. This situation merely challenges them. And if there's anything I like the best, it's a good challenge."

Joan's ringtone went off. She took her phone and read the text.

"My mom just sent me the message", she explained, once again annoyed. "She wants us to meet for lunch tomorrow."

"So, obviously, we are the only one experiencing this day the same like we did yesterday", Sherlock concluded. "Well, not the only one, but the only one aware of that."

Joan shivered. "It would appear so."

#

Neither of them could describe what happened next. In the next moment, they were at that petstore, looking at the terrariums and acquariums. There had been no discomfort, no black-outs. In one moment they were inside the brownstone... and in the next they were there. It felt as natural as if they had moved from the kitchen into the living room, the same way they woke up that morning, and they didn't even realize what was happening at first.

"What the...", Joan mumbled, looking around.

Sherlock frowned. "Interesting."

"Not just "Groundhog Day", for real, but time jumps?", Joan whispered. "Geez, it's like we are in the episode of some TV show or something."

They began walking around, observing every detail, looking for any proof that what was happening wasn't real, or maybe a solution to the situation. But they nothing nothing new, nothing suspicious. It was all the same as it had been yesterday. Even the customers and employees. They registered every sound, smell, detail, and nothing yielded any solutions.

"Such... hallucinations can be caused by drugs or medications", Joan theorized.

"We haven't take any. And as far as we know, nobody else was at the brownstone yesterday... well, today. Yesterday/today."

"Except for Julie Jones! She was even in our kitchen!"

"But after she left, we only ate the take out food that we pedeset a few hours later", Sherlock pointed out. "And, unless we go by the fact that she is a random lunatic who just so happened to target us, who investigate the murder of her boss that is unrelated to her, I remind you that she had-has-an alibi for the murder of Daniel Miles."

"Maybe it's because of the movie that we watched... well, yesterday night", Joan suggested as tey approached the other end of the store.

Sherlock glared at her. "Yes, by all means", he commented sarcastically. "A haunted DVD. Or DVD player."

Joan rolled her eyes. "No. But it night have... triggered this dream."

Sherlock scoffed. "With all due respect, Joan, I think that I have far more interesting things to dream about."

"Assuming this is your dream", Joan replied.

"Either way, such theory would make the current situation your fault", Sherlock retorted, approaching the young employee who was moving a cart filled with terrariums. Seeing that, and remembering the already witnessed events, he reached out and grabbed one just as it fell off the cart, thus preventing it from breaking. She smiled and thanked him, then went on her way. Sherlock locked eyes with Joan.

"Good deeds", he mumbled.

Joan checked her wrist watch and then her phone. "The times has gone... forward as well."

Sherlock's ringtone went off. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and red the text, his face is falling. "Daniel Miles is dead. Great."

#

They didn't have time to complain. In the next time, they were there, at the ordination. Daniel Miles' body was lying face up on the floor, multiple stab wounds to his chest. Marcus was standing near by, acting as if nothing strange was happening.

"Daniel Miles, twenty eight, a dentist ", he read, flipping through his notepad. "The..."

"The patient found the body", Joan exclaimed, still bit in an awe. "The secretary arrived soon afterward."

Marcus frowned at her. "How..."

"Police scanner", Sherlock answered. Marcus just nodded his head. Joan sighed silently.

Sherlock began walking around, his eyes flowing over the crime scene. He almost felt frustrated: he had seen all of that before, derived the deductions already. Joan was looking around, walking back and forth around the ordination slowly, looking almost sacared, obviously not sure how to proceed with such a situation.

"Uhm... Marcus... have you noticed anything strange this morning?", Joan asked carefully. "Out of the ordinary?"

Marcus frowned. "No. Why?"

Joan shrugged. "Just asking."

For a while, Sherlock stopped and studied a few remaining medications in the burglarized medication cabinet. After putting his mind at ease with a logical conclusion, he took a deep breath and spoke up.

"This wasn't a burglary gone wrong", he started repeating all that he, or Joan, had already said yesterday-well, the "first today". "Why use the letter opener if you already have a screwdriver? The murderer is left handed. Note the position of stab wounds and smeared palm print on the left side wall. Mr. Miles was seeing Je... he was seeing a woman at the time of his death. Note the strong scent of the male deodorant and cologne on his body mixed with the scent of a female deodorant. He might have planned on closing the ordination early, since the anesthesia container is empty. The green ink pen found inside the pool of blood belonged to the killer. All the pens in here write in blue or black, also matching to all of the writings in here." He approached Joan and took her hand, making her shudder, before he slowly pushed her towards the door, following along. "Search mr. Miles' apartment, check his phone records and emails", he advised Marcus. "I'm sure you'll find something soon!"

Marcus frowned, looking after them. "Uhm... OK."

"What are you doing?", Joan whispered.

"This might even be a good thing", Sherlock said silently. "I noticed-realized -something that I had overlooked yesterday."

"What exactly?", Joan asked.

"The medications. The few that weren't stolen. Something bothered me yesterday too, but I couldn't figure it out. Most of them are being prescribed, but some must be provided on spot. Some had a logo on them, matching to the drug store a few blocks away. A blue circle with grey dots. "Heller's". A chain of drug stores. Some didn't. This may just be a speculation, but is a private drug store and there was a shooting a block away, a week ago, believed to be gang related. If Daniel stopped doing business with them, that might have had something to do with his death. We may want to look into that."

"And why did you not want to share that with Marcus?", Joan asked.

"Because working on this alone means we can discuss our current situation more or less freely", Sherlock stated.

"Before you start finding holes in that idea, why shouldn't we share our... secret with anyone?", Joan asked.

"Do you honestly believe they'd trust us?", Sherlock asked her. "Or come up with something that could help?" He turned around, heading toward the exit. "The closest and biggest drug store of that chain is three blocks away. I suggest we go there."

#

Sherlock and Joan walked into the drug store and headed straight towards the counter, behind which stood Donald Heller, Caucasian man in his 30s, with short brown hair.

"Donald Heller?", Sherlock asked. "The owner?"

"Yes", Donald answered. "All of my employees have left. I was just about to close."

"We are consultants for the NYPD", Sherlock explained. "We are investigating the murder of Daniel Miles. We have reasons to believe that you used to do business with him."

"Yes, I did", Donald confirmed. "Daniel is dead?"

"Murdered", Sherlock said. "Today."

"Oh my God", Donald exclaimed.

"When was the last time you saw him?", Joan asked.

"A month ago, when he came for the last supply", Donald answered.

"And why did you stop doing business with him?", Sherlock asked.

"He found a cheaper supplier", Donald said. "His ordination wasn't doing well lately and he was saving for some... things. Of personal nature. That's what he told me, but he didn't elaborate."

"And you were OK with that?", Sherlock questioned.

"Yes", Donald answered, nodding his head. "I have plenty of other clients."

"Where were you today between twelve am and one pm?", Joan asked.

"I was at with a couple of my friends", Donald answered. "One of them celebrated a birthday. I just returned as of recently. I'm sure they remember us there, and They have security cameras there. Most of us used a credit card, including myself. I even took some photos and tweeted them."

Sherlock's ringtone went off. He took it out of his pocket and excused himself, moving to the corner before answering the call. "Hallo?"

It was Marcus. "Hey, Sherlock. Eric Johnson's and Julie Jones' alibies check out. Our techs went through Daniel Miles' phone records. Other than frequent calls made to his assistant and equipment suppliers, he would also regularly contact a twenty seven year old woman named Jenny Red. In 2012, she was convicted of assaulting her boyfriend. The last time Daniel called her was at the day of his murder, at twelve thirty am. The call lasted for two minutes. We are bringing her in for questioning. I thought that you and Joan would like to join."

Sherlock grimaced. "Why would we not?"

#

Jenny was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, oprostite to Marcus. She was a Caucasian, red haired woman of average height and weight, dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans. Sherlock was also standing near by, observing her. Jenny's eyes were watery, her face pale.

"I can't believe that he's dead", she whispered. "I spoke to him earlier today."

"How and when did you meet?", Marcus asked.

"In a bar. A month ago. It was mostly... a physical relationship. But we loved each other... in our own way."

"Where were you today between twelve am and one pm?", Marcus asked.

"I was at work", Jenny answered. "You can check. My coworkers and boss saw me. There are also security cameras there."

"I assume Daniel had no enemies, as far as you are aware?", Sherlock asked, surprising Marcus.

"No", Jenny confirmed, shaking her head. "But there was one weird thing today."

"Did it happen while you were talking to him over the phone?", Sherlock asked, almost sarcastically.

"Yes. After about two minutes, I heard the sound of the door opening. It confused me, but Daniel didn't seem to mind. Or maybe he didn't notice. We talked some more, for a while, then he went quiet, and when he spoke again, he said that he needed to go and promised to call me back later that day. But he never did. He sounded a bit... unnerved. I didn't thing much of that at the time, but now..."

#

Once again, Sherlock plastered one of the crime scene photographs on the wall above the fireplace. He observed the whole thing for a while and sighed. Joan finished reading a police report and she put it aside.

"It is odd, experiencing this all over again", he admitted. "But no new leads. I also have a feeling like I'm doing this exactly the same way. Even if I re-arrange everything."

"Have you heard of "folie a deux"?", Joan suddenly asked.

Sherlock glared at her, without answering.

"It's a state in which two, usually very close people, share... experience the same delusion", she answered silently. "Hallucination."

Sherlock nodded his head and walked back over to the kitchen table. "Yes, I'm aware of that... phenomen." He started going through the remaining crime scene photographs. "But I think I would have noticed any signs of a possible mental illness in you. Or myself. Such things don't just happen overnight. And, as far as I know, there are no history of such illnesses in your family, expect when it comes to your biological father. And there are none in mine, though my family is prone to addictions."

"I'm sorry if I upset you", Joan apologized. "I'm just... trying to make sense out of... All of this."

Sherlock gave her a warm look. "I know you do." He glanced at the clock on the wall, then looked through the near by window. "And now is the time to greet our expected visitor", he concluded, heading toward the back door.

He stepped outside and looked around, just a second before a police patrol car drove pass him, over the pool of water, sprinkling it over his pants. He groaned, realizing that he had forgotten that detail. Then he quickly made his way into an alleyway, startling Julie Jones, who was heading back to her car.

"Ms. Jones", he exclaimed. "I had a feeling I should be expecting her."

#

Julie shuddered before speaking up, her eyes slightly watery. "The truth is..."

"Let's cut to the chase", Sherlock exclaimed, making Julie shiver. "I have a feeling you want to tell us something. Something you didn't have the courage to tell right away, in front of the actual police officers."

Julie looked down at the floor for a moment, clenching her fists. "I... I had... problems lately. Headaches. I had am extra key, so I sneaked in the ordination one day, after hours, and stole some pain killers." She slowly looked up at Sherlock and Joan. "I went in through the back door, I managed to avoid security cameras. That was about a week ago. I caught a glimpse... through the window. Some guy was standing outside, looking up, inside the ordination. I got a feeling like he was... observing. Lying in wait." She ran a hand through her hair. "Really weird. Creepy. I think he noticed me, because he got into his car and drove away soon afterward."

"Have you ever seen him before?", Joan asked.

Julie shook her head. "No. But mr. Miles seemed more... detached lately. Stressed out." She sighed, shivering. "Can I have some water, please?"

Sherlock just nodded his head. Julie went to the kitchen, and Sherlock slowly stood up and walked to the kitchen door, that were ajar. He was peeking inside before Julie began walking back to the living room. "Nothing suspicious", he whispered.

"Can you describe him or the car?", Joan asked Julie tiredly.

Julie frowned. "Uh... stocky Caucasian man. In his thirties. Black SUV. I don't remember anything else, sorry."

As she began explaining her reasons for not telling anything about that at first and then following Sherlock and Joan, both Sherlock and Joan felt like they were slipping away.

#

Sherlock was sitting on the chair in a living room, in front of the multiple TV screens, security footages playing on each of them. He watched intently, trying to spot something of importance, but there was, seemingly, nothing useful there.

He didn't even notice Joan standing a few feet behind him, leaning against the doorwwy: but he knew that she will be there.

"Security footages, huh?", she commented tiredly.

"Same like yesterday", Sherlock answered dryly.

Joan sighed and slowly walked over to Sherlock, glancing at the screens as she did. She sat on the chair next to him and sighed.

"I'm afraid", she whispered.

Sherlock glanced at her, surprised. Joan was staring at one of the TVs blankly. "Many things in my life didn't make sense", she reasoned. "But this? This can't be good. It... polutes everything I have ever believed in." She shuddered. "And what will happen next? After this night?"

"I'm sure everything will be all right", Sherlock eventually said softly.

"You can't know this", Joan whispered.

"Not for sure", he admitted. "But I do know that, no matter what happens, we will be in it together." He gently held Joan's hand. They exchanged a small smile.

"You know", Joan admitted, "I just had a crazy idea..."

"Do say."

"Police and forensics are no longer at Daniel Miles' ordination now, right? I mean, it's still sealed, but not an active crime scene?"

"Very likely. Why?"

"Maybe, if we sneak in there and spend a night... maybe we will wake up... "in tomorrow". Maybe we won't be experiencing the same day all over again."

Sherlock frowned, giving Joan's hand a small squeeze. "That's actually a pretty reasonable idea", he complimented her, his smile widening. He stood up, gently moving his hand off Joan's, his face lightened up with excitement. "Let's go."

Joan stood up also, heading towards the hallway.

That's when everything turned black.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Sorry about the delayed update, I had a bit of a writer's block with this one.**

Sherlock opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

Somehow, without even looking around, he knew that the "problem" was yet to be resolved. It was the same morning again. The same day again.

The smells, the sounds from the outside, the... feeling in general, simply. It was all pointing to that. Sherlock groaned.

He looked around. There was Joan, lying face up on the bed, right next to him, only partially covered with the bed sheet. The sight made him smile, despite the circumstances. But then his stomach fell, as he wondered about How will Joan react to such news, and what other options do they have.

He picked up his phone, glancing at the screen. He then looked throught the near by window.

Definitely the same day.

Despite that, he did have to wake Joan up. He took one more look at her, feeling himself shudder. Then he leaned over and kisses her on the lips.

She shifted a little, squirming on the bed. Slowly, she opened her eyes, their eyes meeting. She felt him linger at her lips. She smiled, and he smiled back at her, moving his hand up to gently stroke her hair. She shivered.

But she was still rational. And curious.

"Same day again?", she whispered.

Sherlock's smile faded a little, but he didn't look away. "Yes", he said softly.

"Of course", Joan commented sarcastically, but she still kissed him on the lips.

She sat up in bed and pulled her panties on. Sherlock rolled over in bed.

"I suggest we change the course entirely", Joan said, putting her bra on. "Establish control over the situation."

Sherlock frowned. "How exactly?"

"We head to Daniel Miles' ordination", Joan said, putting on a T-shirt. "As of right now."

"We don't exactly have a control over our whereabouts now", Sherlock pointed out. "Time jumps, remember?"

Joan stood up, turning to face him. "But what will happen? Time jump into the kitchen? Or that store? We just decide to go somewhere else. Time jump to the crime scene. We can then decide to go somewhere else entirely, or decide not to take the case at all. Claim that it is too easy. We can go have lunch, for all we care."

"Then we could get transported back to the brownstone", Sherlock reminded her. "To our meeting with Julie, or the night. Or the next morning, the same like this one."

"Yes", Joan agreed. "But we must keep resisting. Eventually, that... power will wear off. Get tired of us."

Sherlock glared at her. "Get tired of us?"

Joan rolled her eyes. "In a lack of a better word." She breathed. "Of course, the two of us evaporating from the crime scene would cause some suspiciouns..."

"Nobody seemed suspicious when we just showed up at that store yesterday", Sherlock remembered. "Or right on the crime scene. Laws of logic, as well as physics, seem to be operating under certain liberties in this sort of situation."

"Not to mention the common sense."

They quickly made their way downstairs, into the hallway that led to the front door.

"Just like that?", Sherlock commented. "No breakfast, no shower, we aren't even going to brush our teeth?"

Joan just glared at him, causing him to shut his mouth and look away. She took her jacket and put it on. "I am more concerned about the killer. I mean, in case we come accross him or her."

"Well, I do have my whistle", Sherlock exclaimed, proudly showing the item. "And maybe this is really like a dream. Or an actual dream. Once you get "killed", you wake up."

Joan rolled her eyes. "I better get my single stick", she commented before going upstairs. "Wait for me", she said to Sherlock, just in case.

#

In the next moment, they were among the terrariums and aquariums again, inside that small store with blue walls and large windows. The place still smelled of fish food and decorative dirt, and young clumsy clerk was once again in the other corner of the room, moving some terrariums around.

Joan groaned. "Real mature!", she cried.

Sherlock frowned. "Who are you talking to?"

Joan looked away. "I don't know."

Sherlock checked his phone and sighed. He immediately headed toward the exit door, pocketing his phone. Without even looking, he reached out, grabbing the fallen terrarium before it could hit the floor and swiftly putting it back on the spot. The clerk just stared at Sherlock, amazed, somehow managing to mutter: "Thank you."

Joan followed after Sherlock, who was already outside, walking down the street. "What are you doing?", she asked.

"What you suggested!", he answered. "Resisting!"

#

Not surprisingly, in the next moment, they were already at the crime scene again. With latex gloves and booties on as well. It was even more annoying the second time around, just like the two of them had expected. Sherlock just sighed, glancing at Joan, and she rolled her eyes.

Daniel Miles' body was lying face up on the floor, multiple stab wounds to his chest, his shirt and coat stained with blood. The whole ordination was ransacked: papers and medications scattered around, drawers and the medicine cabinet opened, signs of damage to the lock.

"I suggest we take a different approach today", Sherlock suddenly said.

Joan glared at him, a frown appearing on her face. Marcus was even more surprised, but he remained calm. "OK. What kind of approach?"

"You take a look around", Sherlock said, with a straight face. "Tell me what you see, and what you deduce from what you see."

Joan barely withheld a smile. Marcus just stared at Sherlock, a surprised smile appearing on his face. But he soon realized that Sherlock was being serious. He eventually just nodded his head, unwilling to pass on a challenge. It is not like Sherlock hadn't trained him in such areas before (or, at least, tried to).

"OK", he said, looking around. "The body. Blood. Medications. Dentist equipment." He stopped for a moment, his eyes centered on a near by wall. "Blood smear", he noted.

Sherlock nodded his head. "Where?", he asked.

Marcus frowned. "On the wall."

"What wall?"

"This one", Marcus answered, pointing at the smear. "The left side wall." He took a closer look at the smear. "It looks like a bloody palm print. Partial one."

"Judging by the location of that smear, it's position, the angle and the depth of the stab wounds, it is obvious that the killer is left handed", Sherlock deduced. He looked Marcus in the eyes, a determined look on his face. "Is anything out of place?", he questioned.

Marcus shrugged, looking around. "The anesthesia container appears empty", he eventually noted.

"And yet, Daniel Miles had a patient scheduled", Sherlock said. "Maybe he was planning on closing early for some reason."

Marcus nodded his head. "Maybe."

"Excellent", Sherlock exclaimed, smiling widely. "Now smell the body", he ordered.

Marcus furrowed his eyebrows, cringing. "What?", he asked, taken aback.

"Smell the body", Sherlock repeated, calmly, like that was the most natural thing in the world.

"Come on", Sherlock urged him.

"No", Marcus decided.

Sherlock sighed, tilting his head to the side and looking at Marcus the way a disappointed parent looks at a child. Joan almost chuckled, a wide smile on her face. She looked away, a smile still playing on her lips.

"No!", Marcus cried.

"A strong scent of male hair gell and a cologne. Combined with the scent of a woman's perfume. Daniel Miles was seeing a woman at the time of his death."

"And this wasn't a burglary gone wrong. Any guesses as to why?"

Marcus looked around some more, then took one more look at the body. "No defense wounds, but the body is pretty far away from the point of entry."

"And why grab the letter opener if you already have the screwdriver?", Sherlock pointed out. He then walked to Daniel Miles' desk and licked up an evidence bag, containing a bloody pen.

"What about this clue?", he asked.

Marcus observed it closely. "A green pen. It was found inside the pool of the victim's blood. Maybe the killer dropped it, or it fell out of the victim's pocket."

Marcus sighed and looked around some more, then walked over to the victim's body and looked inside the pockets on his coat. "All pens in here appear to be in blue or black ink", he noticed, straightening himself up. "Including the rest found in the victim's pockets, as one would expect, so this pen likely belonged to the killer."

"Excellent work, detective Bell!", Sherlock complimented him. "I'm pretty sure you can handle the rest yourself", he said, heading toward the door, as a surprised Joan followed him. "We are headed to the armors exhibition. Forget trying to reach us!"

#

Sherlock suddenly found himself on a familije location: the interrogation room, with detective Marcus Bell and Jenny Red inside. Jenny was sitting at the table, opposite to Marcus. Her eyes were watery.

"I can't believe he's dead", she whispered. "I spoke to him earlier today."

"How and when did you meet?", Marcus asked.

"In a bar. A month ago. It was mostly... a physical relationship. But we loved each other... in our own way."

Marcus kept glancing at Sherlock, accepting him to chime in. When Sherlock didn't respond, Marcus turned to face Jenny and proceeded with the interrogation.

"Where were you today between twelve am and one pm?", Marcus asked.

"I was at work", Jenny answered. "You can check. My coworkers and boss saw me. There are also security cameras there."

"Do you know did Daniel have any enemies?", Marcus eventually asked.

Jenny frowned. "No... but there is one weird thing."

Marcus frowned. "What weird thing?"

"I'll be right back", Sherlock said, grabbing the door knob. "You're doing Great", he said before leaving the interrogation room, closing the door behind.

Both Marcus and Jenny glared at him suspiciously, but soon resumed the interrogation.

Sherlock found himself in the hallway and soon encountered Joan near a vending machine. She was getting a bag of chips. They exchanged a smile and he walked over to her.

"I thought I'd find you here", he said.

"Neat."

She sighed, leaning with her back against the wall. Sherlock walked over, closer to her.

"I'm just scared", she admitted silently. "I am like you in fact that... I hate the routine. You like solving outs, exploring this situation, I get it. But I..." "I'm scared. This is so... surreal. Bleak."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Well, if that makes you feel any better, this situation is really starting to bother me as well", he admitted. "But the bright spot is... that I'm with you. That we're in this together."

Joan smiled in return. Her cheeks blushed slightly. She shifted in her spot and looked at the bag of chips in her hands.

"Should we go now?", she wondered, a grin appearing on her face. She PowerCD her voice. "Maybe go see a movie or make out in the workroom?"

Sherlock chuckled, then looked around. "Taking a rest is good too." He gazed at his companion. "Even in this kind of situation."

#

They were seated at the kitchen table, like usual. Despite everything, Joan kept glancing through the window every now and then, and then back at Sherlock. He was typing away on his laptop.

"You really won't go outside to meet Julie?", she finally asked.

Sherlock didn't look up. "We already know her side of the story. If she really wants to share that information with us so bad, she will come to us herself. Or issuee an annonymous tip. Besides, she couldn't describe him well, and we can't show him his photograph right now without arosing some suspiciouns."

"What photograph?"

Sherlock then turned the laptop in Joan's directing, frowning suggestively. She looked at the screen: there was a photograph of buff looking Caucasian man on it, alongside with what looked like a list of felonies and police reports. "A criminal record?", she exclaimed.

"Going by what ms. Jones told us two times already, I think I managed to identify the suspect", Sherlock explained.

"Andy Jensen", Joan said, frowning at the screen.

"I've been going through the police reports", Sherlock said. "Andy Jensen has been arrested in the neighborhood close to the one where Daniel Miles' ordination is stationated, two months ago. Possession of a controlled substance. He was released due to a lack of evidence. He threw the drugs away while trying to run away, they couldn't positively prove that it was his. General description matches and he does own a black SUV."

"He could be our killer", Joan concluded.

"Once we went to interrogate the drug store owner yesterday, there was no time jump", Sherlock noted. "Nothing holding us back. We managed to do it, even though he had an alibi, thus excluding him as a suspect. If we keep working on the case, everything will be all right. Probably. Maybe, once we solve the case, all of this will be over."

Joan sighed. "But why is this happening in the first place? And what is causing it?"

"I don't know", Sherlock admitted.

#

Andy Jensen, a stocky looking Caucasian man of average eight, was sitting on a bench near a bus station, hunched over, looking around. Sherlock and Joan were walking over to him slowly, observing him carefully. Once they approached him, Sherlock sat down on the bench next to Andy, and Joan remained standing near by.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I would like to talk to you about the murder of Daniel Miles. A dentist who had an ordination just three blocks away." He tried making an eye contact with Andy. "And whether or not that is related to you. And your drug business."

"You seem pretty nervous", Sherlock noted calmly. "Looking away, tapping with your right foot. Rubbing at your right jeans pocket every now and then."

Andy flinched, looking away. Sherlock continued. "Maybe we should call the police. See what they will find on you. And, later, in your apartment, car..."

Andy gulped, avoiding an eye contact with Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't stop talking. "There is still a chance that you could dispose of the... incriminating contraband before getting arrested. Like you did the last time. But so much... police attention and "throwing away the goods" won't do any good to your... street credibility. Am I right?"

"And if you are planning on running away just now, or getting confrontational, please keep in mind that there are plenty of witnesses around, and I have a single stick", Joan warned Andy, briefly flashling her weapon.

"I have a whistle", Sherlock exclaimed proudly, waving with it in front of Andy's face.

Andy remained silent for some time, breathing heavily, biting at his lower lip. He eventually sighed and spoke up. "Maybe I am doing some... shady business in this area", he confessed, looking away. "But I didn't kill Daniel Miles. I've never done business with him. And I didn't stalk him." He groaned. "How did you even find me here?"

"The police file on you lists this as one of your drug corners", Sherlock calmly explained. "Drug dealing sights. You weren't at your apartment, you are officially unemployed. After going on a search here, we spotted your black SUV parked near this particular location." He looked at Andy sternly. "One witness swears that she saw you peeking through the ordination window. In Daniel Miles' ordination, about a week before his murder. At night. Observing."

"Maybe she saw me around the neighborhood and misinterpeted the whole thing", Andy suggested.

"Where were you today between twelve am and one pm?", Joan asked.

"At the police", Andy answered, sounding annoyed. "They were grilling me about some break in downtown, they interrogated me from eleven am to two pm. Then they finally let me go."

"Right back to business, huh?", Sherlock commented sarcastically.

"It's a cruel world. Tough times."

"There is nothing about that interrogation in your police record or the police file on you in general", Joan noted.

Andy shrugged. "They couldn't charge me with anything. I didn't reveal anything useful. Besides, they just finished with me a few hours ago." He looked Joan in the eyes. "Call the tenth precinct", he said, sounding confident. "Detectives Howard Johnson, in particular. Robbery division. He was there. It is all on tape. All three hours."

"That only proves that you weren't directly responsible", Sherlock pointed out.

Andy rolled his eyes. "Yes, and the police just happened to bring me in for questioning at the time the murder was taking place. Providing me with a perfect alibi. Believe me, I'm not that lucky."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own any of "Elementary" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Here it is, the final chapter. Sorry about the delay. I hope you like this and that the resolution is satisfying.**

Sherlock awoke and was immediately overwhelmed by the exact same feelings, same instincts.

Same day. He sighed before checking his phone. It really was. The same day, the same hour.

He looked at Joan. His heart sank. He didn't want to wake her up. He could only imagine how disappointed she would be. Scared even. And maybe allowing her to wake up herself was a good thing. Resisting the pattern. But again, that didn't work yesterday...

He got dressed, not bothering to to take a shower or brush his teeth, despite the idea of resisting the pattern and time jumps. He went to the kitchen, found a clean bowl and a spatula, took a carton of eggs and a bottle of milk from the refrigerator. He was just about to start frying the scrambled eggs when Joan came downstairs, wearing a T-shirt and shorts.

"Good morning, Joan!", Sherlock exclaimed. "Again", he couldn't help but resist.

Joan groaned. "Yes, it's the same day again. I noticed." She rubbed her eyes. "I can't believe this!"

Sherlock nodded his head in a sigh of an understanding, adding some more milk into the mixture. "I share your frustrations. But we have no choice but to keep trying, investigating."

Joan glanced at the bowl. "Well, at least we will save some money on the food, water and everything", she commented sarcastically. "Providing that this is all an illusion."

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped, a look of realization slowly forming on his face, a smile appearing on his face. He slowly turned to face Joan, who had been observing him, confused. "What?", she asked.

"If Daniel Miles switched drug stores due to the money issues, he might have switched to using a different, cheaper anesthetic as well", Sherlock pointed out. "The initials in his date book may be of the company he decided to buy it from." He lowered his voice, a frown appearing on his face. "And I remembered something, just now. One of such substances, scopolamine, makes you completely suggestible. Well, it's not really an anesthetic... but a medication for nausea. That is necessary for dentist practice as well. And, in high amounts, except for suggestibility, it can also cause drowsiness. If somebody were to put it in here... And we do know one person who visited us yesterday-well, today-and who had access to the anesthetics from Daniel Miles' ordination."

A look of realization appeared on Joan's face. She gulped. Sherlock continued.

"Daniel Miles was seeing Julie Jones, his assistant, and a different woman, Jenny Redding, in the same time", Sherlock explained. "On the day of his murder, he sent Julie to go buy anesthetic, since he had ran out of it. While she was gone, he had a phone conversation with Jenny. He continued talking to her, unaware that Julie had returned. Once he did, he ended the conversation. But Julie had heard enough. She had learned of the affair."

"They got into an argument and she ended up stabbing him to death with a letter opener", Joan concluded. "It was the crime of passion."

"She wiped her fingerprints off the letter opener, put the latex gloves on, somehow obtained a screwdriver, and estaged a break in", Sherlock said, continuing. "She wanted the murder to appear to be a burglary gone wrong."

Joan nodded her head. "She then left the ordination and disposed of her bloody clothing, gloves, screwdriver, and the stolen valuables and drugs somewhere. But she didn't dispose of the anesthetic."

"She probably had it hidden in her hand bag", Sherlock determined. "She wouldn't risk filling the anesthesia container with it, fearing that it may be traced to her. She had purchased it. But, at some point, she realized that one of her pens was gone. Fearing that she had left it on the scene, which was the case, she went back to the ordination, without disposing of the scopolamine. But the police was already there."

"She lied about her reasons for being there", Joan reasoned. "Later, she followed us to the brownstone. Like she said, we are not the police officers. She felt that the safest bet was following us. She was afraid that that pen could incriminate her. She probably hoped to get some info on the investigation, maybe even manage to steal that evidence somehow. But you found her, confronted her. Once again, she came up with the cover story."

"The description of the made up stalker and his car coincidentally happened to match a local drug dealer, and the car that he owned", Sherlock explained. "Or maybe Julie had seen him around the neighborhood, felt that something was off about him, and decided to set him up. She didn't provide a detail description or his full name, she didn't want it to be too obvious. Or maybe she didn't know much about him."

Joan sighed. "It is a good thing that she didn't try to murder us as well."

"Her boss had been murdered earlier that day, there was two of us, the police patrol drove by the brownstone that day, possibly spotting us both... she figured that it was not worth the risk", Sherlock reasoned. "She was afraid that we night search her, demand to see the inside of her purse. The bag of anesthetic would have been hard to explain. She asked for a glass of water, went to get it herself, and hid the bag somewhere in the kitchen. She planned to get it later. Somehow, the bag sprung a rip, there was a leak... and here we are."

"If this is all an illusion, how come we were able to interrogate the owner of that drug store?", Joan wondered. "And that drug dealer?"

"That was an illusion too, based on the facts that had not yet fully formed in our minds, and details attached to them", Sherlock explained. "I had noticed that detail about the medications, I only hadn't realized it, formed the deduction. I often check the police reports as well, listen to police scanners... I had known about before, I only didn't think of him that very day, at the beginning of the investigation."

"But what about the time jumps?", Joan asked.

Sherlocn looked her in the eyes. "Our illusions are based on the most important parts of the day, of the investigation. It is like a dream, or watching an episode of a TV show."

Joan's eyes widened. "And how long have we been... out? Dosed?"

"It is hard to tell", Sherlock admitted. "Once the "day" ends, it starts again... consistent of bits and pieces... the time doesn't really run the same in dreams and illusions as it does in reality."

"And whose dream... illusion... is this? Mine or yours?"

"As we have determined, that is impossible to tell", Sherlock reminded her.

"And now what?", Joan asked.

Sherlock thought his conclusion over for some time. "We could be semi-consciousness. The best possible solution seems to ransack this place, find the source of the drug and dispose of it."

Joan glared at him.

"Do you have a better idea?", Sherlock protested.

Without any other objection, Joan headed toward the cupboards, while Sherlock started going through the drawers and inspecting the walls.

#

This time, Sherlock woke up sprawled on the kitchen floor. His body was aching. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, standing up slowly. His legs felt weak.

He looked around. Joan was sitting on a near by chair, just waking up, moaning softly. Her hair was a mess.

"What's going on?", she asked, blinking a few times, her voice soar.

"I hope... that we just ended the circle", Sherlock said, running a hand through his hair. He straightened himself up, arched his back for a moment, then pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. His face lightened up, eyes widening. "It's Saturday", he exclaimed, thrill rushing through his body.

"Really?", Joan exclaimed, standing up. She walked over to Sherlock and looked at his phone screen. The date matched: the new day had arrived. It was three pm. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her own phone. The same.

They locked eyes before embracing each other, Sherlock's phone almost falling out of his hand. They laughed almost madly, a sense of content at ease finally settling inside of them. Sherlock moved to kiss Joan at the lips, hard, both of them moaning at the renewed feeling, gasping for breath once they finally pulled away, their faces flushed. They won, and everything was back in order.

It was only then that they took a good look around the kitchen, and rest of the brownstone. It was atricous: pots, plates and glasses filling the kitchen sink, utensils on the floor, cushions from the living room couch tossed over, etc.

"We made quite a mess", Joan exclaimed.

"We weren't actually asleep", Sherlock pointed out. "Not all the time. Just delusional. Drugged." He turned to face Joan. "Do you remember which one of us found the bag and disposed of it."

"No... it's all blurry to me."

"Same here." He walked over to the window near the kitchen sink, which was opened. He peeked outside: a transparent plastic bag was on the top of the trash can, inside was a Tuperware box, inside of it a ripped anesthetic bag.

Joan frowned. "We've been out for... fifteen hours?"

Sherlock nodded his head. "Like a long dream."

Joan face-palmed herself. "I missed a lunch with my mom!"

Sherlock glared at her. "That's your biggest concern at the moment?"

"Have you met her?", Joan hissed.

At that point, Sherlock's ringtone went off. He pulled out his phone and read the text, as Joan went over to the kitchen sink, pouring herself a glass of water.

"An email from Marcus", Sherlock read. "That bloody palm print is too smeared to be of any use. No usable fingerprints, DNA or trace evidence on that pen. All the blood on the scene matches to the victim."

"Well, she had to dispose of the evidence somehow", Joan noted, before taking a sip. "Before coming back to the ordination. Unless she panicked and removed them now, then dumped them in Huston or somewhere... it should be easy to link her to the murder." She looked around, noting the air vent grind on the floor, having been ripped from the wall. She noticed a piece of plastic stuck at it's side. "She hid the anesthetic in an air vent", she concluded, then turned to face Sherlock. "If I had to guess, I'd figure that one of the cockroaches "got involved" at night and ended up ripping the bag."

Sherlock shrugged. "I told you I'd take care of that... tomorrow." Joan rolled her eyes.

#

Sherlock and Joan stood in the corner near the interrogation room, watching Julie Jones being led away in handcuffs. She briefly glared at them, but didn't say anything. Her face was pale, her eyes watery, her jaw clenched.

Marcus approached Sherlock and Joan soon, a file in his hand. "After hearing your theory, we broadened the search", he explained. "We found a bloody lab coat and bloody latex gloves in a gutter four blocks away, inside a plastic bag. Together with stolen money, valuables and medication. And the screwdriver." "Blood and gloves and coat matches to Daniel Miles. Coat matches to Julie's size. Her hairs were on it. Her DNA has been found on and inside those gloves, her fingerprints on that bag. The owner of the local hardware store remembering her purchasing the screwdriver on the day of the murder, at around twelve thirty am. The same like the one found in the gutter. So..."

"I'm sorry for not checking on you", Marcus apologized, "but there was no new leads you didn't seem particularly interested in that case, no offense, and I've been pretty busy, so..."

"It's all right", Sherlock answered politely. "You would have probably only made things worse."

"Thanks", Marcus replied, glaring at him. He briefly exchange one more look with Sherlock, then Joan. "See you aroud", he said before heading down the hallway.

The two of them watched him walk away, before turning towards each other. "Well, at least the most important thing is unquestionable: Clyde is okay."

Joan chuckled. "Yes." She looked up at Sherlock, tilting her head to the side. "Though re living the same day over and over again, with you... maybe wouldn't have been too bad."

"If you ignore the time jumps in the midst of coitus."

Joan nodded her head, a smile still on her face, before heading out of the precinct, together with Sherlock. They deserved a day off, at least.

And tomorrow will be a new day.

~THE END~


End file.
